Blight Tales
by Bell the Scribe
Summary: An anthology of random one-shots. Currently: Food and Virgins - Poor Alistair. He's only trying to help name the Warden's invention.
1. Ranger Diplomacy

**Random things pop into my mind while playing DA:O, and while they're not worth a whole story, they're pretty fun as one-shots. So, I thought I would play around with that a bit. This will be a collection of my random ideas, presumably all or mostly one-shots. Enjoy!**

Ranger Diplomacy  
Characters: Dalish Warden (Fir Mahariel), Alistair, Zevran, Leliana, Morrigan  
Pairings: None

"That _cannot_ be your answer to _everything_." Alistair sighed, somewhat exasperated. The group had set up camp earlier in the evening, a semi-rescued stew was heating up over the fire, and Fir Mahariel was lounging about, checking her bowstring's strength after the recent events of the day. She quirked an eyebrow at the half-templar's sudden outburst.

"What cannot be my answer to everything?" She asked, curious despite herself. He plopped down near her, armor rattling, as he went about checking his own weapons.

"You know what I mean." He continued, examining the edge of his blade in the firelight. "You did it yesterday with that dwarf, Dwyn. And earlier, at the tower, with the Knight Commander." He looked over at her, eyebrow raised.

"I…have no idea what you are talking about." Fir was truly confused. Had she violated some human custom? Was she, perhaps, making more of a mess of this Blight situation than she thought?

"'I have a bear' is not always a suitable argument." He said, finally. "_Sure_, he's big, and foreboding, and has quite a lot of teeth, but eventually you'll need to be diplomatic! And by then the only line you'll know is 'but I have a _bear_.'"

Fir stared at him in a sort of befuddled amusement, before answering, slowly, "But having a bear is a legitimate point to make in many discussions."

"It's like the battering ram of points to make in a debate." Alistair continued. "I don't really think you can march up to the archdemon and have it be terribly impressed that you have a bear."

"I wouldn't expect to be having a…what is the word, 'chat' with the archdemon, either." Fir continued evenly, logically. "But having a bear would still be a good point to make to it. Just more of a direct point, as the bear will be trying to help kill it."

Alistair seemed somewhat stumped; the answer, to Fir, still seemed relevant. Then, he said, "I will come up with some dilemma you cannot reasonably respond to with 'I have a bear.'"

"I am certain you could, given enough time. But so far, that has not been the case." Fir was definitely involved now, and it seemed the others were beginning to listen in to the curious conversation.

"What if someone asked you what you would like for lunch?" Alistair started, raising an eyebrow. "Surely—"

"I would make my request and then mention, perhaps casually, that I have a bear, so as to ensure the quality of the food." Fir shrugged. "It is important, especially among your people, to be cautious about this sort of thing."

"I…that seems to be stretching it a bit…" Alistair grumbled good-naturedly. "All right, what about what to wear to a party?"

"That is easy. Whatever matches my bear." She smiled winningly. "For certainly he will be going with me."

"Look, I don't think you can bring a bear to a party." Alistair groused.

"Will you tell the bear that?" She asked, curiously.

Alistair sighed. "Fine, fine." He leaned his chin onto his fist, thinking for some way to stump this ultimate answer.

"I have one that, while it may not stump you, would satisfy my curiosity." Zevran butted in, all smiles as usual. Fir gestured for him to continue. "How would a bear fit into the discussion of a rather handsome, roguish fellow asking to warm your bed?"

"Do I _like_ this handsome, roguish fellow?" Fir asked, tone even, no indication of emotion in any direction other than her continued amusement.

"Let us say it has not been determined yet."

"Well, if I do not like this fellow, then the bear is obviously there to keep said fellow from touching me or even coming near me. Bears are very good for this." She placed her bow to the side. "If I do like this fellow, then the bear is there to ensure that I have not made a poor choice. To keep the fellow in line, as it were. Bears are very good for this, as well."

"I see." Zevran seemed to mull this over. "I am not sure I wish to know any more, quite yet."

"Pity." Fir leaned back, nonchalantly, stretching. "Any other suggestions?"

"How will you get the Landsmeet to listen to you if your only point is that you have a bear?" Leliana asked, joining them by the fire.

"That is not what you have a bear for in the Landsmeet. The bear is so the Landsmeet _will_ listen to the other compelling points." Fir responded easily, without batting an eyelash or hesitating. "Bears are true diplomats." Leliana threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Perhaps I can stump you, then." Morrigan's voice, followed by her form, oozed into the firelight, having joined the group proper for a rare moment. "How will you solve the dilemma of not having a bear, assuming you cannot find one?"

Fir thought, carefully, concentrating, with her hands clasped in front of her, an unreadable expression on her face. Finally, she said, "You are right. I cannot solve the dilemma of no bear with a bear." Morrigan looked haughtily triumphant, and the others gave her begrudging congratulations. "But…"

"But?" Alistair asked, frowning. "What 'but'?"

"I do have a backup, in case the bear answer fails." Fir nodded sagely, while the others exchanged glances. What could she be on about?

"And what, praytell, would that be?" Morrigan asked, hands on her hips, ready to debunk this 'answer.' Fir gave her a cheery smile, indulgent and playful.

"I have a wolf."


	2. That is NOT a Dog

_My housemate has one of those little poodle mixes, a bichon-poo, and it is perhaps the cutest little waste of space in the world. It behaves horribly and she just adores it. So this story is dedicated to Riley, the little monster. Minor spoilers from the story 'Kicking and Screaming'.

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That is NOT a Dog  
Characters: King Alistair, Eamon (mentioned: Aveline Cousland and Rollo/Dog from 'Kicking and Screaming')  
Pairings: None

"_What_ is _that_." Alistair asked, pointing an accusing finger at the small, quivering caramel lump currently sitting on the edge of the bed, a shred of pillow still hanging from its mouth. Eamon sighed.

"I believe it is a dog."

"No, I'm quite sure I know what a dog looks like. I fought alongside one for the entirety of the Blight. That…that is _not_ a dog." The offending creature let out what sounded remarkably like a bark, for all that it was assuredly not what Eamon had said it was.

"Not all dogs are mabari, Alistair." Eamon replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's a gift, from the Orlesian ambassador, on behalf of the Empress."

"They send me a small, curly-haired thing to ravage my bedroom? As a gift?" Alistair asked as he approached the thing, which both growled and wagged its tail at him. Knowing he could probably crush the thing with his one hand, the King of Ferelden was not impressed.

"It is probably some sort of veiled insult, your Majesty." Eamon shrugged. "Knowing the attitudes of most nations towards Ferelden, anyway."

"Is it going to get…bigger?" Alistair asked, keeping his distance. The dog burrowed back into his bed, and there was a tearing sound as it shredded the sheets, its stubby little tail wagging furiously.

"Not by much. It is a lapdog." Eamon shook his head as the small thing came out of the covers, trailing the tattered remains of rather expensive linens. It barely came up to Alistair's shin, covered in caramel curls, with dainty paws and a disgustingly adorable face. "Its function is to simply exist. A fashion statement for a noblewoman."

"Yes, I can just imagine Aveline's reaction to such a dog. Or Rollo's, for that matter." Alistair responded, drily. "I'm sure she'll be _thrilled_."

"Yes, well, Aveline is not your average noblewoman." Eamon concurred, a tad sourly. "I can have it removed, though such a move would certainly be seen as an insult to the Orlesian ambassador."

"Yet, _we_ have to suffer _their_ insults, which just destroyed my bedding, thank you very much." Alistair grumbled, kneeling down to be able to reach the canine. It alternated between trying to nip at his hands and roll over so its belly could be scratched. "I am going to break this thing by touching it."

"Nonsense. You handle fine china well enough." Eamon scoffed.

"A _dog_ should not be comparable to _delicate teacups_." Alistair groaned, obliging the little dog with a belly rub. It cocked a dog-smile at him, stumpy little tail motoring. "I don't suppose I can send it to the kennels and rescue the rest of my furniture?"

"Send it to the kennels? You cannot be serious. It would be torn to shreds in minutes." Eamon grimaced at the gory image. Alistair was unphased.

"But that is where we keep our dogs." Alistair reasoned. "They gave the animal to us knowing this, I would presume."

"But if you do that, it gives them a specific incident to refer to while calling Fereldens uncultured barbarians." Eamon frowned. Alistair rolled his eyes.

"They don't even _need_ a reason. Do you expect me to inflict this thing on the castle staff? Or perhaps you like wasting the kingdom's money to replace my sheets every day?" The King straightened, and the dog jumped up, snapping at his pants, demanding attention. He brushed it away in annoyance. "Does Isolde want it?"

"You can't _regift_ it!" Eamon said, perhaps a little too hastily. Alistair laughed despite himself.

"Oh, sure, good excuse. You just don't want the thing." He sighed, shaking his head. "In the kennels, then. We'll figure out something to do with it. Maybe the kennel master can teach it to not rip into everything it can sink its teeth into."

"He'll probably be insulted." Eamon mumbled.

"I'm going to insult someone, or I'm going to lose all my sleep dealing with this thing. I'm going to go down the path of insulting the one person who cannot lash out at me politically simply for me asking him to do his _job_." Alistair said easily. "If it gets eaten by a mabari, that will simply be unfortunate. I'm certain it can stay with the little dogs from the Anderfels, the ones that hunt badgers?"

"Dachshunds."

"Right, the sausages with legs." Alistair waved him off. "Any more interesting surprises I should know about, or are my other coronation presents less destructive?"

"Well, there are-"

Alistair groaned. It was going to be a long day.


	3. Food and Virgins

_So, I was thinking about how sandwiches weren't really a real 'thing' until pretty late on, and how most people assume they were invented by the Earl of Sandwich. So, in this little story, Avi invents the sandwich, and they have to name it. It's a rather short little drabble but it amused me at the time!

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Food and Virgins  
Characters: Noble Warden (Aveline "Avi" Cousland; first appearing in _Kicking and Screaming_), Alistair, Zevran  
Pairings: None

"So, what is that?" Alistair was looking over Avi's shoulder, watching her slice the bread and layer cheese (precious cheese) and leftover deer meat onto it, followed by another slice of bread. She looked down at it.

"Food?" She offered. He sighed.

"What kind of food? I mean, does it have a name?" Alistair was slightly confused. It certainly looked simple enough, and rather handy, too.

"Um…I don't know. I simply thought this would be an easy way to eat food without getting my hands covered in meat and cheese." Avi seemed genuinely conflicted about this revelation. "Surely this has been made before."

"Well, Eamon would often put food on _top_ of bread, then when he was done with the rest of it he'd give the bread to the hounds." Alistair mused. Avi nodded; that was rather common. Her warden companion grinned. "Well, if you did invent it, you'll have to name it."

"I believe the common custom is to name one's invention after one's self, yes?" Zevran cut in, a wicked gleam in his eye. "So that the person's name will forever be remembered for what they created?"

"I hope I would be remembered for helping to end a _Blight_, rather than a simple, effective way to hold meat and cheese together." She shook her head. "And I wouldn't put it past you to use every excuse you could think of to talk about 'eating a Cousland,' either."

Zevran put his hand on his chest in over-exaggerated offense. "My dear lady, I would do no such thing. How crude do you think I am?"

"Rather." Avi replied in a dry, unimpressed deadpan. Alistair's confused face caught her eye, however. "What?"

"How is that crude?" Alistair questioned, raising an eyebrow. "If you called it a Cousland, I mean." He asked it entirely innocently.

"You know, because…" Avi made a sort of non-committal motion, expecting the answer to occur to him readily enough. Probably it just went over his head and he'd realize in a moment. When it didn't, she gawked.

"How is it…_Maker's breath_." Avi put her head in her hands, disbelieving. Alistair, for his part, looked embarrassed. "You seriously don't _know_?"

"No, I don't _know_, or I wouldn't _ask_." Alistair went redder as Zevran pitched over, laughing, falling out of his seat. "Look, will you just tell me?" Then, apprehensively, "Or do I not want to know?"

"Zevran, explain it to him." Avi ordered, not looking up. The elven assassin, still cackling, hopped up and ambled over to Alistair, attempting to get his giggles under control.

"I'm not going to like this, am I…" Alistair muttered, as Zevran leaned down to whisper in his ear. Avi still had her head in her hands, but she could _feel_ the heat going into his face. After nearly a half a minute of Zevran speaking in hushed tones, Alistair squawked, "It means _what_? Can…can you even _do that_?"

"Of course! In fact, you most definitely _should_! What, did you think such activities were reserved for men's pleasure?" Zevran started laughing again, even as he tried to look mock indignant. Tears were going down his face.

"I never even thought about…_Andraste's flaming sword_, we are _not_ calling it a 'Cousland' or an 'Aveline' or anything else. I would never be able to have one without…" He couldn't even look at his fellow warden, and gestured to his dangerously red face, apparently unable to continue. Avi finally brought her head up, running a hand through it to push back her bangs, trying desperately to keep her own blushing down.

"Well, what do we call it? 'Handy way of holding meat and cheese' is not exactly something you can say off the cuff well." She was struggling not to laugh herself. Alistair looked so very flustered.

There was silence for a little while, as they all thought about it. Finally, Alistair suggested, "What about a meat pocket?"

Avi groaned as Zevran started cackling again. No one should be this oblivious…


End file.
